


Father Figure

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, In which Herc has a son from his first marriage, comforting!Carolyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carolyn comforts Herc after an unsuccessful visit with his son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Father Figure

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "Carolyn gives Herc a comforting cuddle to cheer him up."

Carolyn wasn’t one to be overly observant and perceptive to the moods and means of others. If they wanted her to know how they were feeling and why, it was up to them to make those things known.

It was hardly Carolyn’s job to interpret and manage the internal workings of someone other than herself.

However, when Herc stepped into the living room and took a seat on the couch, Carolyn knew immediately that something was wrong.

The first sign was his silence.

Herc enjoyed the sound of his own voice far more than the average person; he could even give Douglas a run for his money when it came to loving one’s own elocution. There was hardly a waking moment when Herc wasn’t talking, singing, or simply humming to pass the time. Yet he’d entered the house without greeting or announcement. (Carolyn had given him a key primarily out of convenience to herself; she wasn’t going to be the one to answer the door any time Herc came round.) Carolyn hadn’t even noticed his presence until he passed through the hallway on his way to the kitchen.

The second sign was the whiskey.

While Herc was a man who enjoyed a good drink, it was rare for him to indulge himself in the middle of the afternoon without a social event to prompt him to do so. Yet he emerged from the kitchen with a glass tumbler in hand and sat, as he often did, on the end of the couch nearest the fireplace. He seemed to study the two fingers of whiskey, rocking the glass slowly in his hand, pausing once in a while to take a minuscule sip. Herc’s disinterest in a drink he poured himself made Carolyn wonder if additional glasses had preceded his exit from the kitchen.

The third sign was his eyes.

Herc’s natural expression contained an air of amusement which was conveyed heavily by his eyes. They always smiled--just a bit, in the corners--even when his tone and his features suggested annoyance or exasperation. Yet they seemed dull and distant as he stared into the gentle swishing movement of the liquor, lacking even a touch of their usual humor.

Not that Carolyn paid any attention to those things.

She watched him for a few moments, waiting for him to explain his mood or the unexpected change in his afternoon plans. Herc remained silent, sharing himself only with his whiskey and offering it very little at that. Carolyn decided to leave him to it and turned her attention back to her book.

Five pages later, with hardly a word read, Carolyn closed the book in her lap and sat forward in her chair. She narrowed her eyes at Herc, his glass almost empty, and cleared her throat.

“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon,” she said, after receiving no response. “What happened to the match?”

“Nick wanted to go but he preferred to go with his friend,” Herc answered without looking up. He considered the glass in his hand, tilting it until the surface of the liquor ran diagonally from top to bottom. “He’s at that age where he’s not too keen on spending time with his father. Twenty-third year in a row,” he muttered, righting the glass and knocking back the last of the whiskey.

Herc dropped the empty glass onto the end table beside the couch. Carolyn knew very little about Herc’s son from his first marriage but, then again, Herc didn’t know much more. In the sixteen months that they’d been often in the same place, Herc had seen Nick once and successfully gotten him on the phone so few times that Carolyn could count them on one hand.

“How does he look?” she asked, trying to gauge how correct her assumptions were about the meeting.

“Good. Taller.”

“Is he still seeing that girl?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Herc shrugged. He traced a finger over the rim of his glass, his eyes focused on some point beyond the fireplace. “I barely got half a conversation out of him. He sat for one drink. Just enough time for, ‘Hi Dad. I’m doing fine. Mum’s good. Thanks for the tickets. I’ll call later.’” Herc’s hand stilled over the glass. “It was incredibly brief, even for Nick,” he said, shaking his head.

“No child wants to spend time with their parents,” said Carolyn, offering an air of nonchalance.

“Arthur does,” Herc replied quickly, lifting his head to meet Carolyn’s gaze for the first time.

“Arthur,” she said firmly, rising to her feet, “does not count. His general disposition hasn’t changed since he was five.”

“Neither has Nick’s,” said Herc, turning his head to watch Carolyn make her way to the bookshelf behind him. “He still sees me exactly as he did when he was five: that man that occasionally comes round with a gift and a fiver. The only thing that’s changed over the years is the amount of money I give him.” He sighed, rubbing a hand across his brow as he slumped back against the couch. “He only calls me ‘Dad’ because I’ve asked him to. I’m more figurehead than father to that boy.”

Carolyn shelved the book she’d failed to read and looked down at Herc. She noted how his shoulders fell below their usual height as she circled around to the front of the couch. Making a small motion with her hand, Carolyn forced Herc to budge over and make room for her between himself and the couch arm.

She took a seat beside him, saying nothing when Herc’s arm draped over her shoulders.

“If it’s any consolation, Arthur finds you to be an excellent figurehead.”

“Really?”

Carolyn rolled her eyes at the curious rise of Herc’s brow.

“Of course,” she assured him, lightly hitting him with the back of her hand. “Your figurehead is far better than any father Gordon ever was. He adores you.” Carolyn waited until Herc looked away to consider her words before quietly adding, “As do I.”

Herc turned back to her wearing a familiar expression of disbelief, amusement showing in the corners of his eyes.

“You?” he asked. “ _Adore?_ ”

“ _He_ adores,” she stressed. “I endure.”

“Ah,” Herc nodded. His arm tightened around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Well, from you, that is very high praise.”

“Especially given how long I’ve had to endure,” Carolyn said, subtly settling into Herc’s space.

“Yes,” he nodded again, a grin starting to curl on his lips, “that must be quite the hardship.”

Herc touched a hand to her face, drawing Carolyn further into his warmth and the smoky scent of whiskey.

Her hand traveled up his chest, fingers sliding into his hair as their lips met in a kiss. It was soft and brief but effective; Carolyn could feel him relax, the man she knew finding comfort in her presence and her touch. When Herc pulled back, he didn’t go far. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and lay his forehead against her temple, closing his hand around hers, resting once again on his chest.

“Thank you for putting up with me.”

“It’s the least I can do.”


End file.
